The More You Cut It, The Shorter It Gets
Remember back in August when I was whining about my hair stylist moving away? And, how distressed I was at the prospect of finding another stylist? Yeah, well, I never went looking and, as of this week, have gone four months without a scissors touching my hair (except for that unfortunate incident wherein I attempted to trim my own bangs with the kitchen shears, not pretty!).
The bad hair days caused by my inability to motivate myself for the search have been numerous but; today I am actually having a good hair day! It’s like the heavens looked down upon my weeks of suffering and determined that I deserved a small break. Granted, I have no doubt that tomorrow will arrive with a fresh brand of hair hell but, for today, I am happy.
When I mentioned this to Hugh earlier today, as well as the fact that I really do need to find someone new to tame the wayward tresses, his reply was classically Hugh:
Hugh: Nooooo! The more you cut it, the shorter it gets!
Chelle: Like, um, duh? Is that not the point of a haircut?
Hugh: You know what I meant! Aaaaaaargggg!!
And he sounded exactly like Charlie Brown when he said it.
And, that my friends, is the secret to our lasting marriage; I keep him because he amuses me.
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